Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

The blood scent from its wound called. My stomach cramped a third time.

This cat wasn’t my mate. It wasn’t worthy.

It was prey.

I shook it.

Snapped its neck.

Killed it.

Fed.

Something warm, wet and rough licked my cheek. My eyes snapped open, and I stared up into a huge furry face. It looked down at me with curious copper-coloured eyes, huffed as if to say, ‘Get up, lazybones,’ and yawned wide enough to showcase a gut-liquefying set of sharp, white, sabre-toothed fangs—

I threw myself away, rolling until I slammed up against the invisible wall of the ash circle, the heavy chain and collar choking my throat, and froze, staring at the big cat a few feet away, whiskers gleaming amber, the very tip of its tail twitching. Gradually what I was looking at sank into my mind. The big cat’s coat was a mix of glossy golds, bronzes and dark reds, marked with black stripes. It looked as if someone had given an orange and black tiger a funky metallic dye job. If I ignored the black stripes, its coat matched my hair. And unlike the tigers in the zoo, its pupils were oval, like a domestic cat’s. Or mine.

‘What are you?’ I croaked, heart pounding erratically in my chest.

Its ears pricked forward, the look on its face saying, ‘You’re kidding me, aren’t you?’ Then, as if I was no longer interesting, it went and flopped down at the cave entrance.

I huddled there, trying to catch the thoughts running round my head like a frantic mouse. Who was the gold cat? Was it another shifter? Was the funky gold cat why I thought I’d shifted into a big cat and eaten Carlson? But there was no way I had, not when I was still stuck in the circle, still collared and chained. Not that I wouldn’t have killed Carlson . . .

There was no sign of his grey and black striped cat body. Or his human one. His backpack was still here, its contents strewn across the floor: the cloth-wrapped package containing the ritual (ugh), phone (no use here) and a bottle of water (damn, I was thirsty). His discarded jeans and the bloody bandage were piled next to it. There was no sign of him. Not even a bloodstain on the cave’s floor. So had the gold cat chased him off? Eaten him? And where had it come from? More important, what did it want with me?

Not a lot, I realised, as the gold cat rested its head on its (very large and no doubt very sharp-clawed) paws next to the cold remains of the fire, and dozed in the sulphurous-coloured sunlight coming through the entrance. Not far from the gold cat was my own backpack. Which was an unexpected bonus. I took a calming breath – the cat could wait – untangled myself from the chain, then scrambled up and paced my magical prison looking for a way out.

The chain easily let me move to the edge of the ash circle, but I couldn’t cross the ashes or get a handle on the magic in them to crack it. Nor could I break the padlock on the leather collar, or the chain, which was obviously thick enough to hold the big cat it was made for. I shuddered, trying not to think of Carlson’s plans for me, and shoved the fur-covered pallet aside. The chain was welded to a massive iron ring, drilled and cemented into the cave floor. Crap. I was never going to break that. I’d have to work on the collar instead.

I twisted my ring. Ascalon should cut through the collar with ease. But before I started sawing at my neck with a two-foot-plus-long and razor sharp sword, I needed to take care of at least one biological necessity. Dehydrated I might be, but still, nature calls. I chose a spot facing the back of the cave and sighed with relief.

My relief was short-lived as I realised even with the collar off, I’d still be trapped in the circle. And Carlson might be (with any luck) dead and gone, but Marc and the other grey and black stripy cat-shifter, Steve, could turn up at any time.

Damn. How long had I been here? Since yesterday, seeing as I still needed to relieve myself and hadn’t had any involuntary accidents. Which meant this was the Summer Solstice. The Forum Mirabilis auction was tonight. And something told me that, no matter what plans Hugh had in place to rescue the kidnap victims, if I didn’t get back for the auction, then any chance of the Emperor answering my question about releasing the fae’s trapped fertility would be lost.

Crap. What if I didn’t get free in time?

‘No,’ I said, the sound of my voice loud in the quiet cave.

‘No. This is Between . Like the Fair Lands time runs differently here – faster or slower – if you can make it so.’ And I could. The magic liked me. All I had to do was decide ‘slower’ and it would be so. I clenched my fists, determined. ‘Slower, definitely slower.’ Hell, I could be here a week or more, not that I was planning to, and still return the same afternoon I’d left.

But first to escape. And find Finn. No way was I going anywhere without him.

I eyed my backpack. As well as water, some handy wipes and other useful stuff, it contained salt. Salt would break the circle, and while I couldn’t cross the ashes, it didn’t mean things couldn’t get in. After all, Carlson had planned to do whatever with me in the circle. I frowned at the gold cat. I was pretty sure it was a shifter, and while it didn’t seem able to talk to me in its cat shape, it still had ears and presumably a human brain between them.

‘Hey,’ I called.

The gold cat cracked one copper-coloured eye open.

I pointed. ‘Any chance you could bring me my bag?’

It opened the other eye and lifted its head. Finally, after what seemed an age, it rose with a lazy grace and nosed the bag before snagging it in its sabre-teeth. I held my breath as it padded over and then let it out in relief as it tossed the bag over the ashes, to thud at my feet.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

It huffed, almost like a laugh, then went back to lie at the cave’s entrance. Guarding it from outsiders? Or keeping me in? Whatever, I had my bag.

Ten minutes later I was watered, wiped and had one of Sylvia’s always-there BLT sandwiches filling my empty stomach. Thankfully, either by luck or design, her sandwich-replenishing spell on my backpack still worked here. I’d offered the cat water and half the sandwich, which it disdainfully declined by totally ignoring me. I wished I’d thought to ask Sylvia to do the same replenishment trick with the salt too; the plastic shaker was only half full. I started sprinkling it carefully onto the ash circle. As I made it about half way around, a strong breeze ruffled the gold cat’s fur, blew my hair back, and jasmine-scented magic tingled like electricity over my skin.

A girl appeared, sitting with her legs tucked under her to one side, in the middle of the cave.

I froze, half bent over, fingers gripping the salt. Gold Cat flattened her ears but otherwise didn’t stir. The girl was about my own age, raven-black hair curling extravagantly to her hips, dressed in a mediaeval-style dress in claret red that pooled around her like a puddle of blood. Her eyes matched the claret colour of the dress, and her cat-like pupils matched Gold Cat’s. And my own.

She was sidhe.

She was also a ghost.

I clamped my mouth shut on a scream as my stupid phobia hit, panic speeding my pulse. I swallowed the panic back. The ghost sidhe couldn’t hurt me, hell, she couldn’t even speak to me, since I can see ghosts but not hear them. Well, not unless it’s All Hallows’ Eve. Which this wasn’t—

She was sidhe.

Sidhe don’t leave ghosts. If we die, our bodies fade, dissipating back into the ether as our spirits dissipate back into the magic. Damn. Stupid phobia had zapped my brain cells. She wasn’t dead, she was some sort of spirit. I straightened, shooting the girl a narrow-eyed look.